


Return To Me

by anayrovi



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Heavy Angst, Kinslaying (Tolkien), Love, Slow Dancing, mentions of kinslaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27187792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anayrovi/pseuds/anayrovi
Summary: You meet the kinslayer Celegorm, during the loathsome moments of your life under the forests of Doriath.
Relationships: Celegorm | Turcafinwë/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Return To Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [irissearfeiniel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irissearfeiniel/gifts).



The only _thing_ that keeps you from harkening the lovely tuning of birds is the grief you feel for the death of your friend. Your elf friend who died a most heartbreaking death right in front of his general. Orcish arrows striking his chest, and flowers of blood showering from his pierced entrails.

At least that is what his general told you. With a solemn stare and an unwavering voice, he told you in detail the way your elf friend died.

Perhaps, you should not have formed such relationships with your elf friend?

Before he left for battle, he told you of his heart, of his feelings, of his everything. Of him. Just, him.

"I am in love with thee."

He told you with that strong voice of his.

Yet, you did not respond.

You stared at him with dead, confused eyes.

* * *

Perhaps the most wonderful thing about this day is the sunlight that peeks through the green leaves that hang from their branches mightily, enjoying the bloodless breeze, bathing under the radiant sunlight, innocent and unaware of the blood that will soon litter the soil. The scenery fascinates you, but it frightens you more than anything.

When things are beautiful, easily-noticed like a bush of wildflowers, there is unhappiness that poisons the imagery. You cannot classify it as false imagery, yet you would certainly say it was a calm before the storm. Or when things are like this, it signifies death, and most especially, the one who is in a state of oasis like this is the one who experiences it.

Things are beautiful, everything is beautiful if you look at it in the right way. Beauty can be direct and indirect.

When one thinks this way, that one is an idiot.

And that idiot is you, awaiting death.

Death doesn't seem so bad, when you are left with your immortal years, alone.

Death becomes bad, however, when you meet another that will cause you destruction.

Silence ensues, and the birds singing quiet at a stranger's arrival. 

When you see his face, you think you have acknowledged the death that looms over him, but you welcome living. . . once again.

"Who are you, my lady?" he demands with an arrow pointing at your forehead. The tip of the arrow gives you more affection than the dying grass tickling the soles of your feet and the palms of your hands. You eye the windows of his soul, and you have realized that you are meeting him when he's quite broken, abandoned. . . and lost.

He seems lost.

Like you.

"I am nobody," you reply with a calm countenance. But it doesn't help.

He shoves the tip of the arrow further to your forehead, but not enough to make you bleed.

"I'll bleed you to death if you do not tell me your name, and where you are from," he threatens. You are unfazed, and it confuses him, showing a gleam of wonder festering in his irises like the plague, like the _kinslaying_.

"Kill me, I have done a horrible thing," you say, sliding the flesh of your palm through the locks of the lifeless grass. You close your eyes for your inevitable fall.

It doesn't happen.

The cold metal of the elvish craft leaves your forehead. And he moves away from you, like a gust of wind, weapon lowered. He hasn't given up yet, he looks for answers in your eyes, in which you avert.

"What. . . are you?" he asks, slowly.

You look radiant under the sun's glow, yet so lifeless among the grass. He thinks that when he separates the arrow from the bow, resting it on a black, wet rock.

You snicker, captivated by his features and his voice. Celegorm the Fair, you recognize him.

"I am a ghost."

* * *

"You smell like the stars, the moonlight, everything," Celegorm whispers under his breath. He keeps you close in an embrace.

_You expect more embraces to come._

You refuse to utter anything related to his treachery against his and your elvish kin. To your friends in which his hands have undone, twisted, and released their Fëa to the Halls of Mandos. You have to remain angry, loathsome, detached, yet you have fallen. In love? In madness? You do not know.

It is him.

It is him that you have been finding.

You have been found. You found him and he found you.

_The world isn't beautiful anymore._

"I love thee," you whisper, kissing his neck with your eyelashes, fluttering like butterflies.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

"I love thee more than the stars blanketing the lonely sky."

His golden voice touches all of your intimate parts. And you feel him through hroä. and feä. .

You knew this was the last you could touch his skin.

"Return to me, will you?" your voice whispers the promise like a secret.

"I will," he smiles at you, his elven locks shining under Tilion's light.

You taste hesitation on his tongue.

_Your heart is broken once again, hot, and seething on anger, betrayal and pain. It's more intense, more burning, than the first agony._

It ends abruptly. You are once again in pain, heaving great breaths. You, an elf under the withering trees, in the company of blood, lying near a flowing yet quiet river. You cry when you feel the Earth is tainted with the blood of your elvish kin.

You are reminded once again.

That the world is ever so beautiful.

"I will not die, right?" you ask a bird perched on a rock, staring at you intently. You have heard its chirp during the never-ending dances under the moonlight with a prince of the Noldor.

The bird chirps and flies away. It has proven you wrong.

"Surely, I can survive without your flesh touching mine? Will I die when I am absent from your arms?" you ask the skies this time, looking to _maia_ Arien who blinds your eyes.

You do not hear the answer.

What comes after is darkness. Nothing. The void, quiet, however- no. It is your death. The thing you long for ever since.

You are empty, and yet you sigh, content with the embrace of death and darkness. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a request done!  
> This request is from irissearfeiniel. 
> 
> Please don't hesitate to comment your thoughts! Kudos is also appreciated!  
> I am not accepting requests currently as I am in a hiatus.


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